


Vigil Armor

by JRC



Category: Final Fantasy XIV
Genre: Abuse of Ishgardian Armor, Enthusiastic Consent, Established Relationship, F/M, Female Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), Horny Haurchefant Greystone, Light Temperature Play, Unnamed Warrior of Light (Final Fantasy XIV), light roleplay
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-10-13
Updated: 2020-10-13
Packaged: 2021-03-07 16:14:36
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,457
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/26990479
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/JRC/pseuds/JRC
Summary: It was utterly absurd to let her mind be so carried away by the design of a basic haubergeon, and she knew it. But, she reasoned, sinking her teeth into her lower lip and chewing on it gently as she considered the armor splayed out on the table before her, it was hardly the armor itself that got her so hot and bothered. And perhaps now, she could inflict the same particular fondness for this armor on the object of her own desires… see how he would like having such scandalous thoughts every time he saw the armor worn by every soldier in Camp Dragonhead.
Relationships: Haurchefant Greystone/Warrior of Light
Comments: 3
Kudos: 71





	Vigil Armor

**Author's Note:**

> Unnamed, race-unspecified, afab, she/her!WoL x Haurchefant, established consensual sexual relationship with Haurchefant, use of “my dear” as a term of endearment, light role-play, abuse of Ishgardian armor, rated Explicit, set before the events of the HW (Heavensward) expansion of FFXIV.

The requisitions officer’s face had contorted into a comically perplexed expression when she had rested her hip against the side of his stall and asked for a suit of the armor worn by all the soldiers at Camp Dragonhead. His eyes flicked briefly down to what she was already wearing, noting its higher quality with obvious confusion, before simply shrugging, meeting her eyes, and nodding solemnly. The man gestured for her to follow him into a door just behind his stall, and she stepped easily around the structure, sidling into the room just behind the requisitions officer and closing the door behind her, as he lit a candle on a table just beside the door. 

The walls of Camp Dragonhead were an excellent first line of defense between its inhabitants and the bitingly cold Coerthas wind, but standing inside a building was, as always, an enormous improvement. The warrior leaned her back against the walls of the stone and let her muscles relax, tension she hadn’t known she carried dripping from her like melted ice. She had to consciously keep her expression serious, watching as the man bustled around in his storeroom, frantically searching for a complete set of gear that would fit her, and was not too stained with various bodily fluids. Not that the presence or absence of such could deter her… she didn’t plan to be wearing it for very long, and would likely need to wash it before returning it anyway.

The man cleared his throat, and she straightened up at once, her eyes refocusing in time to see a folded set of armor held out to her. She flashed the requisitions officer a winning smile, gratefully accepting the armor (heavier than she had been expecting, she noted with a jolt of excitement shooting straight down her spine at the thought of the strength of its wearers) and clutching it tightly to her chest. “Thank you so much,” she purred, stepping aside and holding the door open with her free hand for the requisitions officer to step back out into the Camp Dragonhead courtyard ahead of her. 

“You’ve been incredibly helpful. I’ll return these… probably.” She turned and started off towards the intercessory an instant too late not to catch his mouth fall open and eyebrows knit together in obvious dismay. Either her position as Lord Haurchefant’s guest, or perhaps the slightly too enthusiastic spring in her step kept the man from saying anything that might persuade her otherwise, and soon, she was standing outside the door to the intercessory, offering the guard a beaming smile and a vague description of permission for her to await him in the room behind him that sounded as though it might have plausibly come from Lord Haurchefant. 

Either the smile, the fluttering of her eyelashes at the guard, or the way she simply kept elaborating, adding details to a conversation between her and Lord Haurchefant that had never taken place, eventually won out, and the guard cleared his throat, stepping aside and holding the intercessory door open to her. She flashed the guard another winning smile, with perhaps a  _ little  _ too much teeth, she reflected, stepping into the office and closing the door behind her, as she watched the guard swallow thickly and adjust the collar of his haubergeon. Humming quietly to herself, the warrior made her way over to the gargantuan table in the center of the room, and once there, laid out the pieces of armor that the requisitions officer had given her. She had some time yet to admire the armor before Haurchefant would be returning from his current patrol...

Her calloused fingertips caught briefly on the iron rings that made up the outermost layer of the haubergeon as she traced the edge of the armor, the loose style of chainmail that she had grown to associate with a particular Elezen. She traced a finger around the detailing towards the bottom of the chainmail, an elegant design she had no name for, the gently worn edges of the raised leather only reminding her of all the times she had wondered idly what the thighs several layers beneath that leather might look like bare. She had to close her eyes for a moment as she let her finger slide lower, tracing the one of the pleats in the coarse deepwood green fabric that was worn below the chain, two striking lines of goldenrod forming the hem of the haubergeon, right around its wearer’s mid-thigh. How many times had she contemplated the hem of that armor? Contemplated flicking it up as she strode past Lord Haurchefant, or tugging on the back of it, or perhaps the way it would flutter if she were to give the Lord an affectionate tap on the rear… 

It was utterly absurd to let her mind be so carried away by the design of a basic haubergeon, and she knew it. But, she reasoned, sinking her teeth into her lower lip and chewing on it gently as she considered the armor splayed out on the table before her, it was hardly the armor itself that got her so hot and bothered. And perhaps now, she could inflict the same particular fondness for this armor on the object of her own desires… see how he would like having such scandalous thoughts every time he saw the armor worn by every soldier in Camp Dragonhead. Yes… this would be fitting revenge, she mused, grinning to herself as she began to strip out of her own armor, bundling it up neatly and setting it beneath the intercessory’s table, safely out of the way.

A chill ran down her spine as she bared more of her skin to the relative cold of the intercessory, prompting her to shiver and glance over to the fireplace. She frowned as she watched the logs in the hearth smoulder where they lay, already closer to ash than a proper fire, and folded her arms over her bare breasts, to conserve what body heat she could. But, she reasoned, she would likely be warmer once she slipped into the armor she had already spent so long admiring, and she found herself reaching for the armor, sucking in a sharp breath as her fingers brushed against the cool metal of the chainmail, which had not warmed up at all since she had brought it into the intercessory. She shook her head firmly, gathering a modicum of her considerable resolve to reach for the haubergeon, and tug it over her head, coarse fabric dragging over her nipples, already stiff from the cold, as she pulled it down over her bare body. When she shivered again, adjusting the hem of the haubergeon around her thighs, it was for an entirely different reason than the cold. 

Biting her lip in anticipation, the warrior reached for the leather skirt that was meant to be worn beneath the haubergeon… then paused, and pinned the skirt to the surface of the table with one finger instead, contemplating it. It was short, leather… would cling uncomfortably to the backs of her thighs while she sat waiting for Lord Haurchefant’s return… Besides, it was not as though anyone else would intrude upon her in the intercessory… and even if they did, they would not be able to see her bare skin beneath the hem of the haubergeon... With a quiet hum, she dragged the skirt to the very edge of the table with her finger, and let it slide onto the intercessory carpet, a breathy little chuckle escaping her lips even as her cheeks flushed, and she nudged the skirt beneath the table beside her own neatly bundled armor. She leaned against the short table to tug the thigh-high chainmail boots on, then finally tugged the gauntlets over her fingers, flexing them a few times in a vain attempt to loosen the chilled leather.

Thus attired, the warrior stepped around the concave corners of the intercessory table, trailing her gloved fingers along the edge of the worn wood, until she reached the high-backed chair she always sat opposite from in meetings in the intercessory. The  _ Lord’s _ chair. She strode carefully around the chair, letting her fingertips drag over the arm and carved back, admiring its careful craftsmanship, well-worn edges, and the slight warping in the seat of the chair where so many  _ important _ bottoms had sat before. Well. Some people considered her important, she rationalized, before perching on the edge of the intimidating chair, straightening her posture to optimize her new position of supposed authority, and folding her hands delicately in her lap. She tilted her chin up, imagining the look on Haurchefant’s face when he steps into the intercessory, spies her sitting in  _ his _ chair, wearing a suit of  _ his _ armor… She shivered as she shifted, anticipation curling in the base of her stomach, and felt the haubergeon’s open back slide a little to the side, causing her bare skin to press against the worn wood of the seat.

She stayed like that, occasionally crossing her legs or leaning forward to trace her fingers around the peculiar concavity in the table before her, idly passing time until Haurchefant’s return. The warrior did  _ try _ not to make a mess of the chair beneath her, but… her mind wandered during her wait, to all the reactions Haurchefant might have upon seeing her here… wearing this armor…  _ not _ wearing the skirt that belonged with said armor… He might be pleasantly surprised, enough so that he might simply sweep her up out of the chair and into a kiss, letting his hands wander down until he realized which piece of her armor was missing… She imagined the shocked little inhale he would take, the way he would pull his hand back as if burned, lift it up to examine his glove, only to find it glistening in the dimming firelight with her excitement…

The warrior found herself leaning back in the chair, palms laid flat against the seat behind her, legs crossed at the knee in a futile attempt to relieve some of her mounting arousal while she waited, and cheeks flushed at least two shades darker than their usual tone by the time a firm knock came from the single entrance to the intercessory. The knock jolted her from her thoughts, and she straightened up quickly, settling both feet on the floor, despite the way the skin of her thighs seemed to cling together closer to her knees, but slid easily apart closer to her core, aided by her arousal. “Please, come in,” she called, cursing mentally as she heard the huskiness of her own voice. He would be onto her immediately, he knew her so well, he would almost have to be… Suddenly her carefully laid out plan seemed heavy-handed in its simplicity, obvious, foolhardy, naive...

As the door swung open, it brought with it a gust of frigid Coerthan winter air, and she shivered where she sat, pressing her bare thighs even more tightly together as she fought to keep her back straight even as the wind cut right through the haubergeon and into her flesh like icy needles. The chilling air seemed to disperse about the room, affording her a reprieve from the cold, as Lord Haurchefant stepped back and nudged the door behind him shut with a slender hip. The warrior watched him cock his head to one side, the beaming smile that had lit up his face upon seeing her in the intercessory, waiting for him, slipping as he seemed to study her more closely. The Elezen lifted one hand and bit the middle finger of his glove, then tugged his hand free of it and caught it as he dropped it from his teeth, his smile all but gone as he strode across the intercessory towards the warrior where she sat in his chair.

She tilted her head back to look up at him as he approached, perplexed by his reaction to finding her here, and opened her mouth to say as much when she was startled by him pressing the back of his hand against her forehead. The warrior opened her mouth to try again, only to be cut off as Haurchefant knelt down before her, his eyebrows knitted together in concern as he looked up at her, laying his bare palm on first one of her flushed cheeks, then the other. “Are you feeling quite alright, my dear?” he asked, stroking his thumb over her cheek, stopping just above her cheekbone, and leaning in to tug his other glove off in much the same manner as he had the first.

“What?” she breathed, her mind having stuttered to a halt as she watched him kneel down in front of her, so very close to where she wanted him,  _ sure _ he would have caught onto her little ploy by now, only to realize that he thought… he thought she was  _ ill _ . “No, Haurchefant, I’m fine, I was-” she began, but found her mouth frozen as she felt a chilled, calloused finger press over her lips, and watched his expression morph to a more grave kind of concern.

“You’re flushed, warm to the touch, you sounded sickly just now, you shivered when I came in - and it’s really not that much colder out there than it is in here, with that fire dead in the hearth,” he explained, glancing over at the fireplace with a disapproving frown. “And,” he continued, turning back to meet her gaze with a determined one of his own. “You’re wearing our armor. I can only presume that your normal attire was proving inadequate at handling the bitter cold of Coerthas, and so you borrowed our armor to stay warm…”

“Haurchefant, no-” the warrior interrupted him, scooting forward in her seat with a little shiver at the way her thighs clung to the seat in protest, settling her hands on her knees and leaning in, being conscious to keep her knees pressed tightly together even as she shifted onto her toes to maintain her balance leaning so far forward. She was startled to find him laying his whole hand over her mouth and holding it there firmly but gently, shaking his head.

“My dear, I was not finished speaking,” he admonished her gently, a tiny, if still concerned smile tugging up the corner of his lips as he leaned in and pressed a chaste kiss to her forehead. “I was about to remind you of your own propensity for pushing yourself beyond your limits, and your tendency to place the needs of others above your own. This would hardly be the first time you needed to be forced to take a moment for your own well-being.”

The warrior rolled her eyes, but her cheeks burned at the undercurrent of genuine frustration (frustrated concern?) in her lover’s voice. It was a reprimand, albeit a very gentle one. But just this once, Haurchefant had misplaced his concern. It caused the corners of her own lips to quirk up beneath the Elezen’s hand, and she parted her lips and licked a stripe up his palm, chuckling as Haurchefant withdrew his hand quickly, making a show of wiping his hand dry on the hem of her haubergeon and giving her a bemused, but mildly exasperated look. 

“Haurchefant, I’m not ill. I had some free time, and found that I couldn’t stop thinking about your dashing armor…” she hummed, trailing her own hand down over the front of the borrowed haubergeon, smiling as she watched her lover’s eyes follow her hand’s progress down her chest. “In fact, I was hoping that the  _ Lord  _ of Camp Dragonhead would advise me on how best to wear its uniform…” she continued, reaching down to catch one of Haurchefant’s hands in her own. She lifted the hand to her lips and pressed a kiss against each of his knuckles, thoroughly enjoying the way his throat shifted as he swallowed thickly. And here she hadn’t even  _ done _ anything yet, not really…

“You see…” the warrior pressed on, scooting even closer to the edge of the seat, and spreading her thighs as she guided Haurchefant’s hand down between her legs. “I’m not sure I put on the armor exactly right, you see… so I was hoping you might have some time to…  _ thoroughly inspect _ my uniform,” she hummed, her voice dropping low as she slotted Haurchefant’s hand between her soaked thighs, and clamped them together around it to drive her point home.

The change in her lover was instantaneous, and all the more exciting for it. She watched Haurchefant’s expression morph from bemused concern to startled arousal the moment she closed her thighs around his hand, watched the bob of his throat as he swallowed once more, and the pupils of his eyes blow wide, until barely a thin ring of their usual ceruleum color remained visible. He appeared to need a moment to collect himself, but after such a long wait, the warrior was disinclined to provide him one. Instead, she edged closer to his hand, widening her thighs enough that she was able to bump into his fingers with her labia, which were somehow even more drenched with her arousal than the insides of her thighs. “Well…  _ milord _ ?” she prompted him, unable to stop her tongue from flicking out and gliding over her top lip at the way his head jerked up at that, eyes burning with an acute lust.

It was as though her words had lit a fire beneath him. Haurchefant surged upwards until he was looming over her, one hand still tucked smartly between her legs, as the other was placed above her shoulder to box her into the chair she was perched so precariously upon. She had to crane her neck back until her head bumped into the back of the chair to meet his smouldering gaze, and bit down on the inside of her cheek as she felt his fingers glide along her folds, gathering her arousal between his forefinger and thumb, then rubbing them together. “Ahh, I see…” he mused, a wicked grin curling his lips as he slid a single finger inside of her with no preamble, all but punching the breath right from the warrior’s lungs at the abrupt motion. “An armor inspection, is it, soldier?” Haurchefant asked, playing along with her little act even as he pumped a finger steadily in and out of her core, and began to roll her clit around with the pad of his thumb.

She gasped, trembling beneath her lover as he leaned in closer, his breath ghosting alongside her hair, close enough that she could hear how labored his own breathing was. The sudden wave of pleasure that rolled over threatened to pull her under, and she had to close her eyes for a moment, searching for anything to anchor her to the here and now. After all… it would be no fun if things ended so quickly. The warrior scrambled for something solid and stationary to hold onto as the room seemed to spin around her, worried that she might slide right out of the high-backed chair if Haurchefant continued his ministrations. She slammed her hands down against the arms of the chair, nails scrabbling weakly at the flat, broad surface before she was finally able to wrap her fingers around the wood and clutch onto the worn arms with a grip tight enough to cause the wood to creak in protest.

“You seem to be missing a rather important piece of the set, soldier…” her lover breathed into her hair, before leaning down and nipping at her exposed throat with a barely restrained hunger that set her nerves alight. “I fear I shall have to teach you the importance of a full set of armor…” Haurchefant continued, punctuating every other word with shallow thrusts into her core with one finger, before bringing another to her entrance and pausing there, simply teasing her. “It seems a hands-on demonstration will be required,” he sighed, feigning disappointment, even as he gave her clitoris a gentle flick that elicited a weak whine from the warrior beneath him.

“On your feet, soldier,” Haurchefant ordered, abruptly straightening up and folding his hands behind his back, looking down on his lover with a stern expression, but a telling gleam in his eyes. He did not so much as hold out a hand to help the warrior to her feet, and she scrambled up with no semblance of grace, on what felt like boneless legs. She swallowed thickly as she lifted her eyes to meet her lover’s, hands shaking until she clenched them together behind her back, standing at attention before the Lord of Camp Dragonhead. Perhaps not the scene she had been envisioning when she put this plan into action, but there was a certain thrill that shot straight to her core at the idea of playing at being one of Haurchefant’s soldiers.

“On the importance…” Haurchefant began, reaching one hand out to push the high-backed chair against the wall, giving him space to stride around his lover. “Of a full set of armor,” he said, clearing his throat as he deliberately leaned down and lifted one of the flaps of her borrowed haubergeon, exposing half of her rear and thigh to the relative cold of the intercessory, especially wet as she was. She choked on a quiet gasp, doing her best to remain still and silent, waiting to see what Haurchefant would do next. 

He stepped out from behind her and let the haubergeon fall back around her thighs, clicking his tongue and giving her a disappointed look, shaking his head down at her. “What, precisely, is the purpose of wearing any armor at all if you leave such vulnerable parts of yourself completely unprotected, soldier?” he asked, reaching up to grip her chin between his thumb and forefinger, which were now tacky with her own arousal. She felt almost dizzy as her own scent reached her nostrils, and had to close her eyes for a moment, willing her knees to lock so she would not sway where she stood. 

The warrior swallowed nervously once more, her own lust-blown eyes opening and darting up to meet Haurchefant’s as she considered whether that question had been rhetorical. She was spared the quandary when her lover stepped back behind her once more, and laid his hands atop her shoulders. “If I may, soldier,” he whispered, leaning in until his breath ghosted alongside her cheek, and applied a light pressure to her shoulders. She nodded quickly, and bent over as Haurchefant’s hands bade her to, then allowed him to guide her arms out from behind her back, and let him place her palms flat on the low table before her. 

A shiver wracked her body as she felt her lover’s hands brush up against her bare backside, only to end abruptly in a pitiful whine and full-body jump, when those hands were replaced with the sensation of bitingly cold chainmail along the sensitive skin of her upper thighs. “You see?” Haurchefant chuckled, ever so slightly breathless if one knew what to listen for in that addictive laugh - she did - before he stepped back and brushed his hands over the spot his frigid chainmail had touched, soothing her gooseflesh back down with his calloused, warm thumbs. “Utterly… defenseless,” he whispered, leaning over her back once more, even as his hands withdrew from her skin, and seemed to be fiddling with something else.

The warrior bit down on her lower lip and glanced over her shoulder, hoping to see what Haurchefant was doing, but the Lord caught her cheek in one hand, tutting quietly as he turned her face forward once more. “Did I give you permission to move, soldier?” he asked, leaning forward to nuzzle against her flushed cheek, chuckling at the heat against his wind-chilled nose, even as she whimpered at the cold of his skin. 

In an apparent break in their little act, he paused, leaning further forward until he could meet his lover’s glazed eyes, and cupped her cheek gently. “Is this alright, my dear?” he murmured, stroking his thumb along her jaw with an unspoken affection. She chuckled aloud at that, nuzzling into Haurchefant’s hand eagerly, and nodding, licking a stripe up her lover’s palm. He grinned, his own cheeks flushing somewhat at the action, before nodding and withdrawing his hand, returning to his position looming over her back.

“Legs straight, soldier,” he ordered, reaching down to tap her knee, which had bent as she had sagged beneath him, overwhelmed with anticipation for the hands-on demonstration he had promised. She quickly acquiesced, straightening both legs and willing her knees to lock in place, suspecting exactly how Lord Haurchefant intended to demonstrate her need for further defenses, and already all too eager for it. “Very well then… time for a lesson I think you’ll not soon forget.”

The warrior gasped as she felt his cock, a welcome source of warmth in the cool air of the intercessory, nudge against her entrance, guided there by her lover’s adept fingers. She shivered as he draped himself over her shoulders, guiding her hands to spread a little wider on the table beneath her, before he pressed his own hands flat atop them, effectively locking her in place as he canted his hips forward ever so slightly, stretching her entrance around his not-insignificant cockhead. She moved to press back onto his length, only to let out a stymied little growl as Haurchefant pressed down against her back, stilling her where she squirmed.

“Now now, soldier, all in good time,” he breathed into her ear with a bemused chuckle, even as he nuzzled into her hair to press a kiss against the side of her temple, rocking his hips forward ever so slightly, pausing when the tip of his cock slid inside her, and simply waiting there, much to her mounting frustration. With each impatient shift of her hips beneath him, Haurchefant merely held her more firmly in place, his fingers curling around her own until they were interlaced atop the intercessory table, his feet shifting to nudge her legs further apart and thus deny her the leverage she so desperately sought.

“Are you starting to see how… easily your defenses can be…  _ penetrated _ with your armor like this, soldier?” Haurchefant prompted her after what felt like an eternity, finally, blessedly pressing all the way into her core as he spoke, eliciting a drawn-out moan from the warrior that was cut off by a startled yelp as she felt Haurchefant’s frigid chainmail press flush against her bare skin. He hadn’t even bothered to lift his ice-cold chainmail out of the way, the absolute  _ bastard-- _

**Author's Note:**

> You can thank the Vigil Armor for existing, and the book club for encouraging me to write this with their seemingly endless thirst!


End file.
